No-one told these two old spirits that the civil war ended a while ago.

A triabble from Amber Dreams, Edina Clouds and Dizzo incorporating the EO challenge word, eighteen, and our own word, war.

Don't forget to visit our funky little community, Dizziedinadreams, where you'll find all our collaborations and a few of our favourite individual pieces too ...

Disclaimer: We still don't own them, however much we plot and scheme.


Down by the Tennessee River, Dean was up to his knees in swamp mud, swearing up a storm.

"This is where Nelson's forces crossed back in 1862," Sam was saying, when Dean swayed and nearly fell.

"Goddam Greybacks! Where's my goddam rifle?"


Dean was scrabbling around in the quagmire then straightened up with a grin, brandishing a long mud-covered object. He wiped off the sticky mud with care.

Sam realized with a shock his brother was holding a Springfield rifle. And it looked functional.

"There y'are baby."

Sam staggered back as Dean leveled the ancient weapon at his head.


That's when Sam felt it, an evil presence reaching out of the swamp; invading his body; possessing his soul. He tried to fight but the creature was eighteen times stronger. It filled his mind with murderous-rage, with a burning hatred.

And suddenly he was at war; suddenly the man with the Springfield was no longer his brother. Instead he was the enemy, a vile infestation that needed to be eradicated no matter what the cost.

Lunging forward Sam knocked the loaded-weapon from Dean's hands.

"Yankee scum," he screamed, enveloping his brother's throat with trembling hands.

"I'm gonna friggin' kill you."


As Sam furiously wrestled Dean's head toward the murky water, Dean fumbled blindly for the rifle and thrust the butt upwards, striking a vicious blow across Sam's forehead.

He watched his brother's unconscious body crumple into the swamp.

"Damned secesh; dyin' in mud, s'where ya belong," he snarled, raising his rifle to finish his enemy.

But, no shot fired as an unseen blow sent him into muddy oblivion alongside Sam.

Bobby didn't need those two idjits distractin' him while he roasted them two old soldiers and their bitter grudges which had festered since 1865.

The Civil War's final battle was over.